


War of Attrition

by moojuicey



Category: Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-09
Updated: 2012-06-09
Packaged: 2017-11-07 09:12:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/429346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moojuicey/pseuds/moojuicey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Desperate, frustrated, and worried where her life is headed, Jessica decides to live out her hottest fantasy with Mike's unwitting help. Mid-Breaking Dawn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	War of Attrition

**Author's Note:**

> All I own is a mountain of debt.

_La Push, Washington_

_Saturday, July 29th, 2006_

 

"Is that what I think it is?"

 

"Yes."

 

"Holy shitballs!"

 

"Yup."

 

"I can't believe they're really gonna go through with this."

 

"Nope."

 

"I really feel like this conversation is too one-sided, Mike. Help me out here. A tragedy like this deserves polysyllabic responses."

 

"I can't, Eric. Shut the hell up."

 

I caught the tail end of this conversation as I unloaded the Mercury's trunk. Luckily, I'd snagged the chips-and-dip duty for this little get-together, so my load was light. The boys were stoking the fire over on First Beach, and were talking about a piece of rectangular off-white cardboard Mike was holding. It looked suspiciously like—

 

"A wedding invitation?"

 

You know, I managed to ignore the one that came for me in the mail today. My flight got in from Detroit early this morning, I had a long drive home from Seattle, and the last thing I wanted to think about was—

 

"Bella and Edward are getting _married_? What the hell for, man?"

 

Ah, Lauren and Tyler have arrived. I chose to ignore the conversation for the next ten minutes or so in favor of popping a squat by the fire, loading a plate with grilled goodies, and spitting a hot dog to roast while I ate. No one said Jessica Stanley eats like a girl. I bet college guys in Ann Arbor like girls who can eat. My cousin Julie's Facebook page was covered with pictures of A-Chi-O sisters in pizza-eating competitions. Only thirty-two more days and I would finally be out of Forks and settled at the University of Michigan, happily two thousand some-odd miles from home. And I can forget all about—

 

"We got our invitations in the mail today, too, didn't we Ben? I think it's romantic, having the wedding at the mansion. It's so beautiful out in the woods. My father is marrying them!"

 

_It's so beautiful out in the woods. Blah blah blah._ Ugh, I can't even mock Angela with satisfaction. She's being too… sincere. And meanwhile, my fucking hot dog is burnt. I can't even enjoy a pre-college, late-summer cookout with friends without thinking about my holier-than-thou ex-best-friend Bella Swan and her stupidly asinine-with-a-perfect-face soon-to-be-husband Edward Cullen and wondering—

 

"So why do you think they're doing it? Getting married, I mean? Jess?"

 

And now I can't even pretend to not be listening.

 

"I'm not sure. Seems quick, but I guess it was going to happen sooner or later, right?" There. That's ambivalent enough. Can we _please_ talk about something else? Of course not, because we can't get over how—

 

"I think it's sweet. Maybe they just don't want to wait until after college, you know? They know it's right; why should they?" Angela curled herself closer to Ben on the log and kissed him on the cheek. _Gag_. "They'll make it. They survived that whole time when Edward left."

 

"Barely," Lauren chimed in. "You know, maybe she's making him get married so he won't leave again. Why else would he stick with _her_?" Every now and again, Lauren makes some kind of sense.

 

Tyler sat down next to Lauren, handing her one of his beers. From _daddy's_ stash, probably. "What do you mean? She's pretty, smart, sweet, modest… if anyone should leave, it's her. Did I tell you what that jerk did before prom?"

 

"Yes, Tyler, you told us all about how you failed to actually _ask_ Bella to prom and then her _boyfriend_ had to 'let you down easy'," I snarked, ignoring how Mike's eyes went all glassy when Tyler started listing off Bella's traits. Many of which I'm not sure were particularly true, anyway. "Besides, Bella may be those things, but need I remind you of the 'zombie days of yore'? She's totally dependent, devoid of self-esteem, and flaky."

 

At first, I thought Mike's sudden bug eyes and flytrap mouth were in response to my words, which were totally true by the way, but he wasn't looking at me. He was looking into the fire, and I could practically hear the clanking and groaning of the rusting gears in his tiny brain. He's thinking, huh? Lord knows _that_ doesn't happen very often. This ought to be good.

 

"No. No. No, no, no. _No_ way! She's not pregnant?"

 

Silence. Perfect. Except Mike should know better, but he doesn't. As a matter of fact, _all_ the boys are staring at each other in horror, as if pregnancy were a possibility. Angela, Lauren, and I shook our heads.

 

Ever the tactful one, Lauren spoke up between chuckles. "Kind of hard to be pregnant if you aren't fucking!"

 

"You don't think they're sleeping together?" Eric asked, and all the boys turned to us.

 

"The way I see it," I started. "There are two possibilities: they aren't having sex, or he's really bad at it, and she's not satisfied. And let's face it—no _way_ is Edward Cullen bad in bed. Ergo, no sex."

 

They still look confused. What is it with boys? They all stare and pant over her; you think they'd notice how wound she is. "I don't know why you're all looking at me like that. It's plain as day.

 

"She has the tight-in-the-mouth look of an unsatisfied woman. Not to mention the constant leg-tapping, squirming, empty-in-the-eyes look of someone who is visibly fantasizing. Plus, she and Edward never show any PDA that isn't G-rated. You guys don't notice these things?"

 

The confused looks permanently etched on their faces were all the answer I needed.

 

"I guess I just never thought about it," Ben said, the only one of his gender managing to save face.

 

Angela tried to explain, "Well, baby, we're her good friends—"

 

"—and arch-nemeses—" Lauren interjected,

 

"—and we pay attention to signals like that so we can offer support and understanding," Angela said, and she shot me a surreptitious look of 'support and understanding.' So she can tell how unsatisfied I am as well, huh? Figures. Mike wouldn't recognize a woman's orgasm if it squirted all over his face. Why did I ever date him again?

 

"This ends now, Tyler," Lauren began, and pulled Tyler from his driftwood perch, spilling his chips and macaroni salad halfway into the fire. "We are going to go find a quiet stretch of beach, and you, jerk off, are going to learn how to figure out whether a woman is satisfied. And by woman, I mean me, because I'm the important one here."

 

They made their way down the beach, and the rest of us watched the sun setting over the water. The silence wasn't tense, but we were pensive; the Quileutes several yards down the beach claimed the Rowdiest Rabble-rousers title for now.

 

"Do you think that's why then?" Eric asked. "The wedding, I mean? They were waiting for marriage to sleep together? Neither of them seem like religious fanatics or anything, though." I watched Mike's face contort as he considered that his precious Bella might be a Jesus freak in secret. _Ha_.

 

"I don't think Bella's particularly religious," Angela began. "But I know it was Edward who approached my dad. Maybe he's the one setting the pace? I mean, it's not like the Cullens go to church on Sundays, but they're pretty tight-knit, which is common in families with strong faith."

 

I couldn't interrupt the snort before it escaped my nose. "Tight knit?" I laughed. "I guess siblings dating-and-possibly-fucking is pretty 'tight knit'. I think the dictionary calls that _inbreeding_. Which is the hallmark of certain religious traditions, am I right, Angela?" Angela just stared at me for a second. OK, maybe I crossed a line there, but it's _creepy_! We've been over this already. "Sorry. I'm being mean. I don't know what's wrong with me tonight. I'm happy that they've worked through everything, at least. I know Bella's due for some happy…" _…considering how long she spent miserable during her complete mental breakdown when Edward left. Whatever._

 

"That's true," Angela offered, and she and the three boys all grew ridiculously haunted looks, thinking of those months when Bella didn't speak a word. Ben tightened his arms around Angela and whispered in her ear. They both stood before I could wonder too long what they said. "Ben and I are going to take a walk down to the water for a bit. We're still on for Port Angeles next Sunday, Jess?"

 

"Of course. I'll pick you up after church, cool? We'll get lunch on the boardwalk," I offered. Angela smiled and she and Ben walked hand-in-hand down to the surf.

 

Eric, suddenly realizing that he's been left alone with Mike and me, and how awkward _that_ would undoubtedly be, decided to make his exit. "I'm going to go see what's up with the Quileutes. I surfed a few times with the guys over there. You're cool here?" Not that he waited for a response before booking it over to the lovely half-naked assortment of dark-skinned, muscle-y Quileutes. _Sigh_. Michigan boys will no doubt be pasty. Bet I can still find a few beefy ones, though.

 

But I digress, though with good reason. There's Mike fucking Newton, staring like he just _now_ noticed my presence.

 

"So."

 

"So, what?"

 

"So, how've you been?"

 

"Well, aside from the disaster you called a date after Cullen's graduation party, I've been OK. I leave soon for school."

 

He at least had the decency to look abashed, but didn't back down. "I already apologized for all that Jess. You know I tried to make up for it."

 

I chose to forget most of the details, thank you very much. They involved a couple of dislocated toes, singed facial hair, and a bowl of chocolate-covered strawberries squashed all over my mother's couch and my beautiful new Betsey Johnson dress (which cut into my first-semester book fund). And that wasn't even the "disaster" part—that was what happened when my clothes came off. I know, I know. Why in the world would I let it go that far when I've got an aching pinkie toe, half an eyebrow, and an impending dry cleaning bill I'd likely be paying for six months later? Search me.

 

Maybe it's the sweet baby face, or the clear blue eyes, or the way he sounds when he's whispering to me…

 

"I miss you, Jessie," he intoned, and the pet name did me in. "If they can work through what happened, we can work through this, right? We don't have much time until we leave for college. I don't want to be up at U-Dub, thinking about you in Ann Arbor, wondering what might have been. What if we're meant to be, like Bella and Edward, and we just didn't try hard enough? Please let me try again, Jessie…"

 

I get it, OK? No one wants regret, least of all Jessica Jean Stanley, but for all his trying, I still felt like I was second on his list. It wasn't so much that he didn't get me off, though that legitimately sucked; it was more that I never felt he was paying any attention to me in the first place. But with his eyes boring into mine now, and the firelight making his blond hair glow like that, and his fingers tickling my back, he seemed to be paying attention _now_.

 

A van full of late arrivals pulled in next to Mike's Suburban. Katie, Conner, Samantha, Lee, and Austin Marks climbed out, Austin and Lee lugging a cooler. Katie hightailed it over to Eric, and Samantha had the presence of mind to see Mike and I were in the middle of something important and led everyone toward Katie and Eric and the Quileutes. I'd been afraid for a second that they would interrupt; I guess that was my answer, huh?

 

And here I am fifteen minutes later, mostly regretting saying, "Yeah, OK."

 

I'm pretty sure sex is supposed to get better the more you do it.

 

I'm just going to keep telling myself that, okay? Deep breaths.

 

_It will get better. It will get better. It will—_

 

But _fuck_ I want it to be good _now_!

 

I could still hear the bonfire crackling and a dozen or so partygoers over on the beach. We were less than fifty yards from it, but the dense woods surrounding us and my unfailing irritation made the carefree happiness sound worlds away, unreachable.

 

Ever since orientation started in Ann Arbor four days ago, I'd been thinking all these deep thoughts about everything. Normally, I try not to get too heavy—life's too short, you know? Just do it, that's my motto. Actions speak louder than words… er… thoughts… er. You know what I mean! Anyway, it's really getting on my nerves, but my brain keeps wandering down these depressing paths. Getting away from Fabulous Forks for a few days made me realize how effing depressing my life here is, I guess.

 

And Mike didn't make anything better tonight, despite his little speech about "trying again." He didn't try anything _new_ , that's for sure.

 

And right on cue, there goes the snoring wonder. _Eye roll_. I bet college guys don't fall asleep immediately after they come. I bet college guys don't snore as loud as a vacuum cleaner. _Sigh_. But really, I have no idea about college boys, no idea what to expect about anything. I liked the campus, I liked the people, and I liked that chemistry class I sat in on—even though I was totally lost re: the material, it was nice to feel anonymous in that massive auditorium—I know I'm going to be happy there. I just don't want anything holding me back when I go, and worrying that I'll never be able to enjoy having sex will definitely hold me back. Not that I'm planning to sleep with lots of guys, but I just want to know that I'm capable of all the normal sorts of experiences before I get thrown into this new and strange environment. I'm inevitably going to be questioning everything about myself anyway; the less I have to worry about, the better I'll adjust.

 

Ugh, too heavy. I shook myself out of my thoughts, and realized that I was starting to get cold from all the wet air. I wasn't about to snuggle up under Mr. Vacuum Cleaner over there. Back to the bonfire, I guess. I searched the nearby flora for my discarded clothing, finally locating my underwear on top of Mike's sweaty Green Lantern boxers. I swear to God, is he eight? I hastily beat the grass and ants off my clothing and dressed, eager to warm up by the fire.

 

I finger-combed my hair on the walk back to the beach, where Lauren, Tyler, Ben, and Angela had rejoined the latest additions to the Forks-High-recent-alumni group.

 

"Jess!" Angela exclaimed, surprised. "I didn't think we'd see you again tonight. Where's Mike?" she asked, looking behind me.

 

"Sleeping off all that beer he drank earlier. Are there s'mores?"

 

"Yes, there are, and I brought special chocolate!"

 

"How can chocolate be special?" Ben asked as I sat down next to Eric and Katie. "It's chocolate. The end."

 

"Oh, you are quite mistaken," I started, happy I was near an antidote to Mike's frustrating attempts at seduction. "The discerning female palate knows the difference. Let me speak in your language. Chocolate is like kryptonite—each variation produces a unique visceral experience and consequence—though these are invariably positive, my good man. What did you bring me, Angie? I need something yummy with my marshmallows!"

 

"Barcelona."

 

_Guh_ … That one word, that one small square of _haut chocolat_ was nearer to producing an orgasm than Mike could ever dream… Lauren was always fun to be around because she didn't mind when I went a little overboard with the mean, but Angela… Angela always knew just what to do to make someone feel better. I was going to miss her. I could always find another Lauren; her kind were common in the Greek fold—in fact, I had met a few who were good contenders for her replacement hanging out in the Alpha Phi house on Thursday night.

 

"You brought her a city in Spain? I'm confused," Lee said.

 

"She brought me the most delectable, make-you-forget-everything-else-in-life chocolate from Vosges. Milk chocolate. Hickory-smoked almonds. Sea salt. It's heaven in a silver wrapper. If there's any left over when I'm finished, _maybe_ I'll let you try it."

 

"That bad?" Angela mouthed at me, and I shot her a look that said, "Worse."

 

She stood, understanding my desperation. "It's still frozen. Lauren, why don't you, Jess, and I take a walk while it melts a little?" At first, Lauren was upset that we dragged her from Tyler's not-quite-muscular arms, but she obliged with a huff and an eye roll. I didn't say anything until we were safely out of earshot. I rolled up the ends of my pedal pushers and waded in to splash some water on my face.

 

"Are either of you going to tell me why we're out here in the black instead of by the fire with chocolate and beer?" Lauren asked restlessly.

 

"Mike," I answered.

 

"What about Mike? I thought you were done with him," she replied as she joined me in the wet sand.

 

"I was. I'm just feeling sentimental and wishy washy and I don't know. We were OK together. Maybe I shouldn't give up so easily, you know? And it was all cozy and couple-y by the fire, and I had a moment of weakness. We ended up in the woods, and he was snoring while I was totally wound up again, which of course _he_ didn't notice."

 

"Of course he didn't, Jess. What did you expect? You don't tell him you aren't satisfied, so what's he supposed to think? I'm sure if you just tell him what you want, he'll do it," Angela insisted.

 

"I'm not so sure, Ang," I argued. "Part of me thinks that he's not even paying any attention either way, and that makes me so mad, you know? And how am I supposed to know what I want? It's not like I have a ton of experience, and he's not exactly Mister Adventurous. I don't even know what I like, and I'm afraid that maybe I just don't like anything. What if I just can't? You know, get off? With someone else?"

 

"I think you're working yourself up over nothing, Jess," Lauren commented. "You just need to try different things. And if Mike isn't suggesting stuff, you need to be the one to do it. To be honest, there are plenty of college douche bags out there that aren't really concerned with whether or not you come. Take charge of it. Unless they're two-pump chumps, they should last long enough for you to take care of business."

 

"Is this really what you want, Jess? I thought you still cared about Mike. Don't you want it to work because you two might try the long-distance thing?"

 

"Maybe? We aren't as solid as you and Ben, for sure. But Mike mostly treats me well, when he's not preoccupied with Bella. I'm just not sure that we'd last through the long-distance thing." In fact, I was certain we wouldn't last through it. Mike was an out-of-sight, out-of-mind kind of guy, which was fair, since I'm the same way.

 

"So why are you still sleeping with him? You should stop worrying about it until someone special comes along."

 

Lauren and I both shot her a look.

 

"That's just it, Angela. I'm _going_ to worry about this until I know I'm normal, you know? It might be a long time before 'someone special' comes along, and I don't want to spend all that time apprehensive about it if I don't need to. And it's better to figure it out with someone I care about and feel safe with, rather than one-night stands, don't you think?"

 

"So you're just going to use him?"

 

"You mean use him like he's been using me? Hell, yes!" I said heatedly, but then thought better of it. If only Lauren were here, she wouldn't mind that statement, but Angela took offense. "No, that's not what I mean. I mean that I'm happy he cares about me, and that he finds pleasure or whatever with me. I'm just hoping he can return the favor. I don't think either of us expects to last long-term, but that doesn't mean we can't make the best of it while we still have time, right?"

 

Angela looked reluctantly appeased. Lauren was just bored. "However you put it Jess, it's fine. Why shouldn't you get some good out of him? You just need to switch it up a little. Take over. Get creative!"

 

"I take it you have suggestions?"

 

"Ohhh, you bet I do."

 

Let me just say, as a preamble, I am _so_ thankful I don't blush. Angela was tomato-red, but I could tell she was tucking things away for future reference with Ben. They weren't quite up to sleeping together either, but I had a hunch they found ways around it. Lauren had some good ideas I thought might help, so I went away from the bonfire that night with some little hope at least.

 

I spent a few days on the Internet (on my brand new iBook for school, natch) researching some tidbits and watching online porn to get demonstrations for the crazier ideas. I kept the volume on mute. Not for privacy—to save my freakin' sanity. There are only so many times a girl can listen to a totally fake and whiny, "yee-ah, yee-ah, oooh, mmm, yee-ah" before the necessary amount of eye rolling itself causes headaches.

 

I swear to God, someone should make porn that appeals to women. They'd make a fortune.

 

Most of the informational sites were helpful though, and I had a nice list of positions that Mike and I could try. I also bought a few accessories online, hoping that "discreet packaging" meant discreet packaging. I ordered a few schoolbooks as well, thinking the deliveries would coincide and remove any parental suspicion. Like they ever pay more attention to me than absolutely necessary. _Whatever_.

 

I started with easy things. I could count the number of times Mike and I had had sex on two—OK, three—hands, so it's not like we were particularly _old_ hand yet.

 

One afternoon when we were fooling around in his bed, I moved into a doggie-style position, my research informing me that he'd hit my G-spot that way, and one of us could use fingers to help me along. Of course, Mike didn't think to offer me the reach-around _and_ he leaned all his weight on my back, so my hands were busy supporting us both. And he came faster than usual. _Epic_ fail.

 

"Oh God, Jess. Sorry I leaned on you like that, but watching from behind was too much; I couldn't help it. That was great." And he kissed my shoulder and fell asleep.

 

"Yeah. Great."

 

A few days later, my "discreet" package arrived by morning. Mike was over later that afternoon, and I pulled out a few of the little sample packets of flavored lube, hoping he'd spend several minutes with his tongue between my legs. He'd been reluctant to go down on me so far, at least with any sort of… zeal. I at least _pretended_ to like it when I had my mouth on his dick because _he_ liked it. He chose the pineapple flavored one and gave my clit a few cursory swipes—I'm sure he found it by accident—but again, he worked me up and then didn't deliver.

 

"Oh, I'm so close Jess, I need to be inside you so bad…"

 

Nice to know the lube helps get _him_ off. _Argh!_

 

"Mmm. I bet you liked my tongue on you. Next time you should pick a flavor and suck me off." And he kissed my shoulder and fell asleep.

 

"Yeah. Loved it."

 

Since I gave up on watching porn, I'd tried reading instead when I found the LitErotica website. I found that I liked reading and imagining some beefy hunk (what was that big Quileute's name? Jacob?) murmur dirty words in my ear and against my skin. After an awkward conversation with Mike wherein he claimed an inability to say dirty words out loud ( _eye roll_ ), I finally said, "Just tell me what you want to do to me, that's all." He mumbled a few words from an old Ludacris song, and then said he wanted to fuck me and come all over my face.

 

Really? What guy in his right goddamned mind thinks his fucking _girlfriend_ wants to hear shit about getting jizz all over her face? It's a freakin' health hazard, not to mention entirely disgusting. THIS IS NOT A SHITTILY FUNDED PORN FLICK, MIKE. My inner bitchy sarcasto-girl voice wanted to say, 'Sure, Mike. I'll let you jizz on my face the day you promise to lick off every drop of it. AND LIKE IT.' But I didn't. I took a deep, centering breath. "OK. Then what do you want to do to _me_? After that?"

 

I could tell he was confused as to why that wasn't enough. Deep breaths. "Um… I want to kiss behind your ear? And then down your neck?" He said these things like a question, and I had to nod for him to continue. He was on the right track. _Finally_. "Then I would put my hands in your hair, and kiss your mouth…" _So far, so good_. "I'd lay back, then, and let you kiss me a little…" _Don't get off-track now, please_. "And I'd watch as you drag your lips down…" _nonono_  "and wrap them around my erection…" _and we've most definitely fallen off-track_. "I love your mouth, Jess. It's…immaculate." What in the ever-loving fuck does that mean? Immaculate? What place does religious terminology have in (what was supposed to be) sexually stimulating conversation?

 

"Thanks, Mike. That's great. But what do you want to do to _me_?"

 

This time he just looked exasperated. Like I felt.

 

"Never mind," I said, and I turned over and fell asleep.

 

I wasn't giving up, no way. He might be insensitive and clueless, but he apologized the next day and told me that he just had no idea what I wanted him to say. _Sigh_. The night before the wedding, I decided to try something I thought was foolproof: I would _show_ him how to touch me. We were at his house. He had fresh sheets for once, and he was still in 'beg' mode from his poor word choice. When my fingers drifted down beneath the soft—and tastefully groomed, I might add—hair between my legs, his eyes bugged out and he grew a slow, awed smile. I grabbed his left hand in mine and pulled it toward me, encouraging him to help. I spent a few minutes stroking my clit while his fingers slid in and out of me. As long as the anatomy was obvious, Mike wasn't terrible. If it's a hole, pump into it. If it sticks up like a pencil eraser, suck on it. Mouth to mouth. Tongue on neck occasionally. He just never did anything long enough, never explored, and never cared to find out whether _I_ felt good. Anyway, back to the fingers. My fingers and his fingers, blissfully bringing me near the brink of what I'd been waiting for with him for so long… My hips moved in time with his strokes and my own, a rhythm my body recognized…

 

Mike's fingers faltered at the exact _wrong_ moment, and he voiced a long, drawn-out groan. I opened my eyes just in time to watch him come on my stomach and his fresh sheets.

 

"Thanks, Jessie." And he kissed my shoulder and fell asleep. I was laying in a pool of his stickiness, my fingers on my clit, and did the only thing that made sense to me at the moment.

 

I cried.

 

I cried big, fat, ridiculously girly tears. Jessica Jean Stanley does _not_ cry, but I couldn't help it; I'd been pushed that far past empty. I was sick of feeling like I was at war—with Mike, with myself, with my own body. I felt like I had been waiting and trying and waiting and trying and I just had nothing left. Nothing.

 

I still felt empty early the next afternoon as I dressed for the wedding. I'd picked a yellow cotton sundress and a white knit sweater with three-quarter sleeves. I pulled my curls up and added a few fresh daisies I'd bought from the florist yesterday just as Mike pulled up in the Suburban. I felt absent.

 

I don't think I noticed much about the wedding ceremony either, only Edward's heartbreaking smile when Bella lifted her head at the bottom of the staircase. That smile didn't leave his face until they kissed to seal the covenant, and then it was back again.

 

It was still present half an hour later when everyone formed the receiving line. I hugged Bella and managed a small genuine smile when she beamed at me. I was so happy for her; happy that someone looked at her with eyes that didn't see anything else in the room. I watched several other people from Edward's side offer their congratulations, but Edward's eyes didn't stray from Bella for long. Neither did Mike's. It was plain how beautiful she was tonight, and how ecstatic she was when they danced. I usually couldn't see the draw so many people felt to her, but tonight she was radiant when he held her and they danced; for once, my sarcastic side had nothing to say about it. Her hair was a mess of curls and tiny braids pinned to her head, the dress a vintage ivory shift. I watched as he turned her to the wall of mirrors, and she saw herself there.

 

I saw myself in those mirrors as well, and I was beautiful too. I felt beautiful, and I looked beautiful, but Mike wasn't looking at me. No one was looking at me. Not the way He looked at Her. They were a "forever" kind of couple, completely devoted to each other, and no one could deny it. A strawberry blonde I didn't know kept glancing toward them covertly, appraising. By the end of the night, though, she was just gazing with awe like the rest of us mortals.

 

After Bella and Edward left, there wasn't much sense in staying longer. I barely noticed anything on the drive to the hotel. Mike had reserved the French Room at the Misty Valley Inn and already had the room keys. He'd told the parents that all of us kids had gotten a room at the Lodge so we could stay up late once more before going our separate ways. Either they're dense or just don't care, but they didn't say anything about it.

 

"You're quiet tonight, Jessie. Anything wrong?"

 

Only my entire life, Mike. "Not at all. It's just intense, you know? Marriage, wow. Right?"

 

"Yeah. They looked great, though. They'll probably make it," he grimaced. "If they don't, there are plenty of people who'd be willing to take a shot. They'll be fine."

 

He said this as though I couldn't hear that he meant, "If Edward fucks up, she'll come running to me, heh heh." I was starting to circle back to anger. Luckily, he didn't say anything else. Once we were safely ensconced in the pretty, if 80s-reminiscent, room, he called dibs on the shower while I changed into pajamas and hung my dress in the armoire. I climbed under the comforter, trying to make sense of the day and all the crazy-heavy emotions swirling around in my brain.

 

All I noticed all evening was how Edward adored her. He was sweet, attentive, appropriately affectionate, and _mostly_ gracious when Bella danced with other guys. It was simple and perfect, and toward the end, it hinted toward a simple and perfect wedding night. There was a moment just before they left when he held her close and they kissed. The kind of kiss that was slow but full of passion, smoldering into something more—right on the dance floor, right in front of everyone, like they couldn't care less what the wedding guests witnessed.

 

I wished I knew what it was like, being kissed like that. Seeing Edward's black eyes staring like he would devour me, hands shifting impatiently on my back, eager to be buried elsewhere. I wondered what they would do once they got to their honeymoon hacienda. I heard they were going somewhere on a secluded beach. The Seychelles? Canary Islands? The air would be salty and heavy, so they'd open all the windows and doors and get cold drinks from the refrigerator…

 

The room felt stuffy, so I followed my little fantasy and opened the room to the elements.

 

Edward would set Bella down on the bed and take her shoes off, and rub her feet while he kissed up each ankle… He'd help her unpack her essentials, and then help her unbraid her hair, massaging her scalp after each one…

 

I was so relaxed at this point, lost in the fantasy of someone actually paying attention to my needs, that I hadn't noticed the shower turn off. Mike emerged from the bathroom in a halo of steam. He was still wet, his hair several shades darker than usual. If I squinted, he could almost be Edward. Almost. _Close enough to help the fantasy along._ I had a choice to make. I could stop thinking about wedding night sex and have totally lame hotel sex with Mike wherein I would be guaranteed to be disappointed, again, or I could keep the fantasy going, with Mike playing the physical part of my mental Edward.

 

"Leave your hair wet," I said.

 

Whether he knew it or not, he _owed_ me this.

 

He's going to do everything _I_ want for once.

 

"Everything you want, huh? This the latest game, Jessie? I like it!"

 

Holy shit. For once, I said exactly what I was thinking. That's what I needed to do. I needed to be in the habit of saying what I wanted. I could do this.

 

"Come sit behind me on the bed?" I asked, and scooted forward. When he did, I went back to the movie playing behind my closed eyelids.

 

_Edward finishes pulling out her plaits, and moves his massaging fingers to her shoulders._

 

I moved my hair over my shoulder. "Neck rub, please." And he obliged. His fingers weren't so bad. Not enough pressure, and too fast. "Slower, harder." And those fingers _became_ Edward's. I felt his thumbs digging deep into the knots I'd accrued over the stressful weeks. They were melting away, and I moaned a little. _Edward's lips move over her neck in soft, wet, kisses._ "Kiss my neck." Mike's fingers faltered a little, but his lips and tongue were on my neck, and I found I didn't care. His nose brushed along the hollow behind my ear, and his tongue traced down the nape of my neck to the top of the t-shirt, and I shivered a little bit. I couldn't remember the last time another person had touched that spot, and it felt _goooooood_.

 

"Mmm. That feels _so_ good."

 

_He lifts her arms and pulls her dark blue blouse up and off; his fingers never leaving her skin save to cast the shirt aside. His mouth is on her shoulders and her back, and his fingers trace a path down her arms to her breasts._

 

I raised my arms. "Shirt off." Mike wasn't quite so graceful with the job, but my hair fell back into place easy enough, and his hands knew the next step without direction. His mouth found its way back to that spot that made me shiver, and the pads of his fingers were tentative and soft against my chest. My heart was beating harder, and my breath coming faster, just realizing that I was living out this fantasy. Hope surged in my belly and gave me courage to see this through.

 

A few droplets of water from his hair fell, creating little paths of icy coldness where my skin sang. One drop fell directly on my right nipple, and Mike wiped it away. All the sudden attention made the skin crinkle and tighten, and I wanted his mouth around it. I drew breath through my teeth, and it sounded like a pleasure-filled hiss. I pulled away, swiveled, and lay back with my head just shy of the footboard. I pulled my shorts down a little bit, and he pulled them the rest of the way. Nudging the towel at his waist with my foot, it fell to the floor as well.

 

_He rests some of his weight on her, the rest on one forearm. He draws a line with his tongue from her shoulder to her nipples, only sometimes gentle with them._

 

"Don't go in yet," I told Mike as I pulled him on top of me, my eyes still semi-closed. I guided his mouth to mine, and buried my fingers in his hair, imagining a bronze mop in place of the wet mess. I imagined it was soft and pliant waves under my fingers, a heavy brow below, and a perfect Cupid's bow between my lips. My index finger sought his mouth, and he opened. I touched his tongue, and he swirled it around my finger, just like I wanted him to do on my nipple. And my clit, here in a minute. I pulled my wet finger out of his mouth and traced it over my left nipple. When it puckered up, I whispered, "tongue."

 

He started out gentle, unsure at first. When his confidence grew, and he was sucking and licking with more enthusiasm, I let out a gasp at how warm and amazing it felt. This was about the time he would move on to something else, normally, but I held firm so he couldn't budge.

 

_He is feral, nipping at her flesh. If only his teeth were sharper, he would sink them into her skin and devour her. He was an animal hunting its next meal._

 

"Teeth! Unh… Use your teeth," I groaned out between labored breaths. I was sweating at this point; my body temperature shot up every time a little of the fantasy played through my mind and Mike replicated it. The palms of my hands and the soles of my feet were slippery, and I fanned my hair out over the end of the bed to cool off. His tongue and teeth wouldn't let me cool off, though. I could feel my heartbeat, pounding in my chest and between my legs, and there was no turning back. I'd finally get what I'd been searching for, one way or another. I let him shift his weight to the other arm, his mouth to the tip of flesh on my other breast. I grabbed his hand and moved it down to my sex, where we found my lips swollen and warm, and the space between them considerably wetter than I'd expected. Mike's head snapped up and he looked me in the eyes. He moaned softly with me when our fingers moved together over my clit.

 

"God, Jess, you're never this wet. What do I do next?"

 

_The hunger is too much, too overpowering. He has to taste her, so he lifts her knees and plants her feet. His black eyes meet hers once more, and the hypnotizing, too-white skin of his fingers disappears inside her. A few moments later, he dips his head down and draws languorous circles on her clit with his tongue._

 

"Put your tongue where our fingers are," I directed. I used my fingers to show him the spot, and ran my fingers through his hair to guide him. My legs were shaking a very short while later. My insides were all tight in anticipation, but outside I was a trembling mess. I felt like I could burst out crying at any moment from the pleasure, and my breath was irregular and heavy. There was no way I could form full sentences at this point, but single words might be possible.

 

_He's growling and licking and biting like he's starving and she's the main course. His fingers are moving hard and fast, and she can barely restrain her cries._

 

"Unh… fingers… inside…" I managed. He made to move his head away once his fingers were pumping inside me, but again, I held firm. "Stay… both… same time…" I could feel the pressure building, and I was holding my breath without realizing it, but I needed something more. "Bite… suck… ahmm…" His mouth closed over my clit and pulled hard. My hands fisted the footboard above my head, my toes curled so hard the joints cracked, and I fell apart with one loud, long, strangled cry. He kept his tongue and fingers moving, and I kept coming on them for what felt like minutes and minutes and hours and—

 

"Inside!" I gasped, and struggled to pull my shaking body into a sitting position. I wanted to be on top for once. He fell back with a relieved smile on his face, so I straddled him and gripped the headboard with one hand.

 

_Since it was her first time, he let her ease down at her own pace, and he let her set the speed and tone. He did grasp her behind with one hand to guide her, the other he uses to massage the hood of her clit. The first time may hurt, but he still wants her to get as much pleasure as possible._

 

I grabbed his cock and slid down onto him as slowly as I could manage to prolong the moment for myself. I shuddered a bit when the backs of my thighs settled on his. "Don't come yet. Wait for me," I told him, "and I'll set the pace." I placed his hands just like they were in the wedding night fantasy, and once he got a good rhythm on my clit, I braced myself using the headboard and rocked back and forth a few times. I closed my eyes and imagined the bronze mess again, and imagined the fingers on me were long and nimble. The eyes watching my breasts bounce a bit were the hungry black with gold flecks. The cock inside me was thick and long, and it had stamina enough to wait for me to come. I used the headboard as leverage to start a painfully slow up-and-down rhythm, and I felt every inch in my bones. His fingers stayed powerful and consistent, I kept my thrusting strong and leisurely, and I felt a slow build again.

 

_He is visibly struggling to maintain his composure. He wants to watch her fall apart in his arms this time, and so he redoubles his effort on her sensitive nether skin and speaks to her softly. "Let go, baby. Let it all go. Come for me."_

 

"Touch harder, faster," I started, and I focused on how he felt, moving inside me. I could feel his skin slipping and sliding against my insides, and it was so good, slow like this. No pounding and pain to distract me from my building orgasm, just smooth, even strokes against all of my softest flesh. The focus all on me for once, on me feeling good—and oh, I felt good all right, and better every second. I moved harder and a bit faster on his cock, and he took that as cue to do the same on my clit and again, I just needed something more.

 

"Tell me you want me to come."

 

"Unh… I do, Jessie! Please come, please come _right now_!"

 

I'd never owned an insertable vibrator, so I had no idea how good it could feel to have something so substantial inside me when I came. I wanted to come this way every time, from then on. His hand fisted my ass and his fingers squeezed my clit, and he thrust upward hard and fast a few times when I lost my rhythm to the pleasure coursing through me. I couldn't help the soft scream that bubbled up my throat as I clenched and clenched and clenched again and I barely noticed when his face transformed to reflect his own pleasure because I was too wrapped up in enjoying my own.

 

I fell beside him and kissed his (small) bicep. I was a sated mess, my face plastered in 'cheesy grin'. I had absolutely nothing sarcastic to say about what just transpired. I was just elated.

 

"That was fun, babe. You're never that loud when you come, usually," Mike said nonchalantly.

 

Like he'd know what I normally sound like when I come? _Sigh_. There went some of the elation.

 

At least when he kissed my shoulder and fell asleep, I was able to do the same. Funny how awesome multiple orgasms can tire you out, huh?

 

In the morning, we were packing our overnight bags back up, and Mike spoke.

 

"That was definitely different last night, Jess. It was good at the end, but man! You drove me crazy, making me wait so long. Maybe we should save that game for an every-once-in-a-while thing, yeah?"

 

"Sorry, Mike, it was just better for me that way," I answered. I fiddled with my dress, knowing now was the time to have done with it. "I think we should talk though. I mean, I'm leaving in 12 days to live somewhere two thousand miles away. I don't think the long-distance thing is a good idea. You'll meet people. I'll meet people. I don't want us to hold each other back from that. If we're meant to be, we'll cross paths again, you know?" _Yeah, right._

 

"You're probably right," he conceded. "Don't you want to spend our last few days together, though?"

 

"I don't think it's a good idea, no. I'll be busy getting ready to move, and my family will want to spend time with me before I go. Why don't we just end on a high note?"

 

So we did. And if I ever needed to write another personal statement about how I learned to "persevere" and "think outside the box" to "meet my goals," I had plenty of fodder.


End file.
